Training Exercises
by bamftastik
Summary: If only we could watch the party members train each other in their varied specializations... Because I'm sure that would go *so* well... Quick bits, to be continued...
1. Bezerker

"So the boss wants you boys trained as Bezerkers, eh?" The dwarf leaned heavy on his axe, blinking up at the two larger men with a widening grin.

"_Pashaara_. You are drunk."

"Aye."

"I see no point to this. What is there to be learned from a warrior who can barely keep his feet?"

Even the templar chuckled at this, stiffling it against the back of his glove.

"Bezerkin'... Bezerkin' s'all about harnessin' your rage."

"The Beresaad are trained to control their emotions."

"Oh? I hear there's a farmer and his brood who'd say different. Were they still able to say, that is."

The Quanari subsided with a rumbling growl, but the dwarf had already turned to Alistair. "And what about you, boy?"

"Me?"

"That Templar trainin's all well and good, with your magics and your fancy skirts--"

"--It's a robe... battle robe... thing..."

"But you gotta tap into somethin' deeper, somethin' harder, somethin' resilient."

"The boy has lost his home, his clan, stood by while they were slaughtered. He faces an impossible task. He is king, they say, and yet he will not lead. He is spineless and prone to weeping when he thinks others do not see. He is--"

"--Hey, _hey_!"

Sten almost smirked, something twitching behind his brow. "I am merely trying to be helpful."

"Yes, well..." Alistair's eyes strayed then, roaming across the camp to where his fellow Warden was undergoing training of her own. Already she had shed much of her armor, her skin glowing slick beneath the firelight. She spun then, blade flashing round, but the elf caught her arm easily, slipping behind her to lay a hand on her waist.

Following the boy's reddening gaze, Oghren grinned. "Aye, that'll do it."


	2. Shapeshifter

"I do not see why this is necessary."

"Nor do I." The younger woman folded her arms, shifting uneasily as she realized that she was mirroring the other mage.

"And yet the Warden thinks it best."

"That you learn from an _apostate_." Morrigan's smirk turned wicked. "Oh how the mighty have fallen."

"I never said that I was mighty, girl. And I fell long ago."

"Is it the way of the old to speak only in riddles? 'Twill not work, you know."

"And one might say that the young are overly suspicious. But we are not here to trade barbs. Tell me of your... craft."

"I'd say you already know something of it." Morrigan nodded to the woman's arms, crossed now beneath her chest. "I have seen the way the men around here stare. But for one so ancient and _withered_..."

"There is no magic to it, I assure you. In _civilized_ places women wear more than just a few strips of cloth."

Morrigan's sneer turned smug.

"But if there are any such tricks..." The older woman quirked a brow. "...I'd say you learn them before you gain many more years yourself."

She reddened at that, folding her arms again as she turned away. "The first shape is that of the spider. I'd say it will suit you rather well."

Wynne only smiled.


	3. Bard

"They say that there are many arts employed by bards, not just song."

She turned from that grin, hiding a chuckle beneath her hair as she twisted the last of the tuning pegs.

"These should be part of the lessons too, yes? To ensure that I am... fully trained?"

Passing the lute between them, she smirked. "I doubt there is anything more that I could teach you."

"Ahh not so, dear Leliana, not so." But the words were distracted. Zevran settled the instrument cross his lap awkwardly, for one strange moment uncomfortable.

She laughed, moving behind him to position his fingers across the frets. "Here. You claim to have a deft hand, no? And you can think of it as poetry."

"Poetry?" He quirked a brow at that.

Settling again in front of him, she smirked. She had said too much, perhaps, but there was something... amusing about seeing the assassin off balance.

"And what else has she told you, I wonder?" His grin was wicked.

"That she wants you trained as a bard."

He gave the instrument an experimental strum. "But I fear my voice is not so beautiful as yours. I shall be embarrassed. Perhaps we could retire to your tent?"

"You could walk through a marketplace at noon completely unclothed and I doubt you would so much as flush."

"Ahh, 'tis true." He sigh was wistful, remembering.

This was going to be a long night.


End file.
